The Edge of Glory
by myownmistress
Summary: Cut the balloon strings and let it sink. /Incest/


**AN: .Incest. You have been warned.**

**Hello all. I'm Selena and this is my first Narnia Fic. I feel really bad though, because this is so dark and evil and stuff. Hopefully you enjoy it and maybe, possibly leave a review? **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. Or the title, which belongs to the lovely Lady Gaga. :)**

_**The Edge of Glory**_

He knows that she's giving up. That she's quitting.

But she knows that he is, too. He just has to realize it first.

The chasm is there: reddened with black in all of its glory, pulling her closer and closer to its edge. Before he knows it, she's surrendered and plunges, plunges, plunges, until she's gone, gone, gone. Right when the abyss's basement is near, he's there to catch her.

Always.

He holds her up steady because he'll be strong for her. (Even if he can't -won't- bother to help himself)

So he averts to cannibalism; feasting on alabaster skin without ever being truly content. At night fall, he honeycombs her collarbone with kisses until he's stripped her of anything and all she's kept secret. Because then, maybe, there sins will become virtues. The thing is, pecks at dawn, nuzzles at noon, in the gardens, on the balconies; it's all permitted.

The Narnians don't frown upon them because of their blood line. They just fit.

But the merge of ebony and gold know better. They know their crime and how improper it is. And how inhuman it is.

And how immoral.

So to them, their title is revoked, towed, and burnt, the Golden Age raptures, and a tyrant is born. The roaming hands, fatal fleeting glances, the groaning spotlights; it's all so wrong.

Cut the balloon strings and let it sink.

When the kingdom is engulfed in sheets of clouds, oozing out tear shaped promises, she sits indoors, painting; x'z and o's and rivers and ponds. And it hurts, but the pain is liberating because the crimson means that she's still alive. Royalty doesn't cry. They bleed.

He stares at her hands, at her rings, and pretends not to glance at the groves tricking him under bracelets and sleeves. If he didn't pretend, his majesty would be forced to confess. He'd have to affirm that his lover had evolved into something else.

Someone else that he was foreign to. And you cannot love that who you do not know.

He catches her just as the glass finishes her house and there's screaming and to-no-where running and soaked cloths bandaging her wrists.

"Bloody hell, Susan! You've went too far!"

His name, muffled by a shriek, has to escape her lips before he recognizes that his hands grip her arms a bit too harshly and that he's actually hurting her. She collides with the marble when he releases her and there's wincing and cries and _what the fuck did I do?_

Waterfalls of guilt cascade upon him because he's mortified and flinches away, not knowing how The Valiant could come in so quickly to comfort her highness.

Seven nights later, he tumbles off of his stallion. It was an error, he says. Mishaps off of a horse into a padded meadow don't result in shattered ribs, though.

Misery, torment, pain; he just needed to feel what she felt. If only physically.

Unlike them all, she isn't deceived, and doesn't hesitate to confront him, despite his limping. She prods at his heart, wailing, blaming, and putting the people's best interests in front of her own. She accuses him of being selfish and stubborn and a nitwit.

"What was Narnia supposed to do without a ruler?"

He did it for her, he did it for her, he did it for her!

"Why can't you understand?"

A blur of pale skin flashes in his dazed vision before there's a blaze on his cheek. Then, his hand goes up, too.

It's not him, it's not him, it's not him!

There's a gasp -a sob- and a corking of the loveliest sapphire eyes he'd ever seen. It's sickening (again) but he doesn't run. He's afraid that this time, she won't run after him.

Oh so familiar arms coil around her frame and logic gets the better of her. It's logical to fight, so she does. Tiny fists form as she futilely beats at his chest, a melody played on her personal drum. But soon, she melts and grieves into her instrument and he's there, there to comfort them both. All because at the end of the day, the High King and Queen are still human.

When they plunge back out of the wardrobe, he knows that she is giving up. That she is quitting.

But she knows that he is, too. He just has to realize it, first.

She trips into the chasm, but this time, he can't save her.

So he doesn't save himself, either.

Together, the Southern Sun and Northern Sky succumb.

Together, Peter and Susan remember to forget.

_**Fin. **_


End file.
